Girl Trouble
by Ms Kitten
Summary: One late night in the mess hall John and Ronon have a little chat.


Disclaimer: Not mine, belongs to MGM and the writing staff on the show. Because had it been mine, the very idea of McKeller had never even been introduced. I. Can't. Stand. That. Pairing. Nope, I can't. Jennifer belongs with Ronon, as I am sure the good people reading this fic will agree on.

AN: Thank you Nika Dixon for letting me bounce ideas off of you and for betaing this when I was done writing. I think this story got three times better with your involvement, so thank you!

AN2: This is a little one-shot designed to tide you over while I write on my upcoming Ronon/Keller series (which already has like 18 chapters, I think). Hopefully you'll still be around by the time it's ready for publishing.

AN3: In case you have read my other stories or my profile, *yes*, I am attempting to write with the "bunny ears". It's an experiment, see if I like it or not, so please don't give me too much grief about it.

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John tried. He tried real hard to conceal his smirk as he spotted his best friend entering the mess hall in the middle of the night. It wasn't that he hadn't anticipated this happening, considering the noises he'd heard when passing by the big guy's quarters earlier. In fact, he was surprised he'd had the time to get halfway through his magazine before he got some company. Maybe Ronon had taken the long route coming here, or maybe he'd made one more attempt at getting the situation under control before finally giving in.

It was almost amusing to see the proud Satedan warrior look so... defeated, as he gently slumped onto the chair in front of him.

"What?" Ronon asked gruffly, as he finally took in John's amused expression.

"Nothin'." Ronon didn't seem to buy it and raised both his brows expectantly. Had the situation been different, John might even have interpreted it as a challenge. But it was difficult to take anything the man was doing seriously at the moment. Even as Ronon was staring him down, John couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth to tug upwards. "I'm sorry, big guy, but you don't look very intimidating tonight."

There was a minor spark in the other man's eyes. "I can still kick your ass one handed."

"Think maybe the good doctor might have some issues with that," John jested. Though Ronon might not want to admit it, the woman had him whipped, tonight being the supreme proof of that.

"You gonna tell her?" Ronon challenged.

"Won't have to. The wailing will give it away."

"She's not wailing."

"She _will_ if you start pounding on me."

Considering it for a moment, Ronon eventually nodded in acknowledgement. "I guess she would."

A moment of silence passed before John finally asked; "So what was it this time?"

"Not sure." Ronon shrugged. "She just started screaming all of a sudden."

"Yeah, I heard," John grimaced at the high pitch sound he'd heard through the door. "You're lucky you don't wake all of Atlantis up when she goes off like that. Thank God my room's at the other end of the hallway."

Ronon smirked. "I guess that's why McKay's working on that program of his."

This made John smirk as well. For the past few weeks Rodney had incessantly been complaining about the constant noises from his neighboring quarters. He hadn't mentioned anyone by name, but it was no secret on the base who he was referring to. John was pretty sure the man had expected Woolsey to side with him on this matter as he '_hadn't had a decent night of sleep in weeks, now_'. However, much to the scientist's annoyance, Woolsey had instead suggested one of two options; either move to different quarters or find a solution to the problem, himself, as he was the only one affected by it. So now the man was working on some sort of a sound buffer to install at every room. And of course he had to point out how he would have managed to do this five times faster if he could just get some decent sleep. John had to chuckle at the thought of good ol' McKay.

"So, you really don't know what it is?" John asked.

"Jennifer thought it could be colic," Ronon shrugged, shifting the bundle in his arms around. "But if I take her with me for a walk outside, she usually quiets down. So now we're not sure."

As if she knew who they were talking about, the baby let out a soft sigh as she grabbed onto her father's beard and tugged on it gently. Ronon didn't seemed to be bothered by it, didn't even try to make her stop. Once more John found himself having to smile at the sight in front of him. And once again Ronon noticed.

"What?"

"Nothin'," John shrugged. "This whole dad thing just kinda suits you." And it did. When it had finally become common knowledge that the doc was pregnant and the immediate crisis had passed, John had found himself wondering how Ronon would be like with a baby of his own. One thing was holding Torren for a moment or two, but Ronon Dex as a father? As in the whole bottle, burping, diapers, the whole nine yards? The thought had been so foreign, so unimaginable that he had been surprised at how naturally the Satedan had fallen into the role.

Ronon cocked his brows. "Thought you said you couldn't take me seriously like this."

"Oh, no, the baby thing works for you," John assured the man, then pointed to the blankie draped over Ronon's shoulder. "But pink isn't really your color."

The End


End file.
